


Politically Incorrect

by RembrandtsWife



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RembrandtsWife/pseuds/RembrandtsWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair narrates a favorite fantasy of his--starring Jim, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Politically Incorrect

**Author's Note:**

> First, there was Francesca's "Push and Pull". Then, J.C.'s lovely uniform series. Then, they came together and begat this story--my own take on an issue many writers have explored.

## Politically Incorrect

by Merri-Todd Webster

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/8298/titles.html>

Author's disclaimer: Not mine but Pet Fly's. Enough said.

Politically Incorrect  
by Merri-Todd Webster  
(15 December 1998) 

* * *

Don't get me wrong--I like women. Hey, I _love_ women. I love the softness, the wetness, the way they get boneless after they've come a dozen times. I like being able to make my lover come a dozen times without tiring her out, and believe me, I can do it and do it well. I love giving a woman head, I love fucking, I pretty much love sex, period, sex with anyone as enthusiastic as I am. 

But I've always had this fantasy, ever since I figured out at the age of fourteen or so that I also like men. I was a skinny egghead as a teenager (I'm still an egghead, just not quite as skinny any more), and my first real crush on another guy was on this athletic type in my freshman comp class. He was a real jock, big and muscular, chiseled features, weird combination of very light hair and very dark eyes. You can believe he spent a lot more time working on those muscles than he did on his Engligh papers. I used to sit there practically drooling, watching him out of the corner of my eye; he sat two rows away from me and one row up. Todd was his name--I think. Anyway, he looked awesome in a white shirt and tight jeans, and I used to have this fantasy about him that has stayed with me. 

It is _so_ politically incorrect. _Way_ politically incorrect. I mean, basically, it's about being forced to have sex with him. 

I have never, ever been interested in having sex with someone who isn't 100% as willing as I am. I think my dick would fall off if I even _tried_ to fantasize about forcing a woman to have sex with me, even just verbally coercing her, let alone using physical force. Never mind actually doing such a thing--bad karma doesn't even begin to cover it. But turn it around and put me at the mercy of some big hunky guy who wants to know if smart boys give good head, and I barely have to touch myself to come. It's just one of my kinks. 

Well, you can imagine--when I first met Jim, the idea flashed through my head. That's all it did, at first; I was way too interested in him from an academic point of view. Yeah, I kept telling myself that. At any rate, he needed my help a lot more than he needed my hormones, and the fantasy didn't really attach itself to Jim until after I moved in with him. 

And then--oh, baby.... 

I mean, come on. How could I not? The man is the _embodiment_ of the fantasy. A cop, an ex-Army Ranger, how much more macho jock can you get? Jim walks into a room, and you can smell the testosterone in the air. I went through a really embarassing period where I was at least half-hard all the time. Really uncomfortable, too. Eventually my glands got used to him and stopped paying tribute all the time, but my mind... that's the real organ of sex, friends. And Jim took up residence in my mind as the undisputed star of Blair Sandburg's kinky little fantasy. 

So lately it goes something like this: We're sitting around the loft one evening, after dinner. I'm working on something, grading papers or reading ahead for the course, and Jim is finishing up the dishes, making sure the kitchen looks, once again, like nobody ever cooks or eats there. I'm so absorbed in what I'm doing that I don't notice he's approached me--until he's standing over me. It's like a mountain picked up its roots and walked on over. 

Jim stares down at me, his face carefully expressionless. "You know, Sandburg," he says casually, "I've been thinking maybe it's time for you to start pulling your weight around here." 

"Jim?" I put down my book or my pen or whatever. 

"I mean, I know you do a lot for me on the Sentinel side. But on the other hand, I own this place and let you live here, and you don't pay me a dime. You don't even buy any of the groceries. So I think maybe it's time I stopped giving you a free ride and demanded a little compensation for your room and board." 

I start stammering something about how much I make and what I can afford to contribute, but Jim cuts me off with a heavy hand on my shoulder. "I don't want your money, Sandburg. I want something you have a lot more of, something you spread around pretty freely already." 

Jim bends over till we're almost nose to nose. His eyes are one big glacial blue blur. "Take off your clothes." 

My stammering turns into sputtering, but that hand on my shoulder tightens until the pain shuts me up. "If you want to continue living here and eating my food, I think you owe me some consideration. And I would like that consideration expressed with your mouth. And your ass." 

My mouth goes absolutely dry when I realize what he's talking about. On the other hand, my cock hardens up in nothing flat. "Take off your clothes." 

I start to undress with shaky fingers. Jim steps back and watches me, silent, unmoving. By the time I finish stripping in front of him, my whole body is trembling, with fear, with anticipation. I shudder _hard_ when his fingers brush the head of my cock. Jim walks around me, slow, silent, predatory. 

At last he chuckles, sort of. "Very nice." A hand from behind me strokes my hair. "You're a beautiful boy, Sandburg." 

"Please," my voice shakes, "call me Blair." 

The hand twines into my hair and pulls. "Don't talk. Don't say anything unless I ask you a question. I have better ideas for that mouth than talking. You got that?" I nod, and the hand in my hair releases, and Jim takes my shoulders and turns me around. 

"Kneel." 

I don't even hesitate. I sink down in front of him, head bowed, waiting for him to tell me what to do. Knowing that whatever it is, I'll do it. 

The movement of his hands makes me look up. Jim is unbuckling his belt. I feel relieved and at the same time disappointed because he didn't ask me to do it for him. I would have unzipped his pants with my teeth if he'd asked me to. I just watch, fascinated, as he unbuckles the belt, unsnaps the waistband, pulls down the zipper, and pushes down his boxers, and pulls out his erect cock. 

I have to bite my lips to keep from moaning. It is just as big as I'd suspected--in other words, enormous--beautifully shaped, already slick at the tip. I lick my lips and hear another chuckle. "You want this, don't you?" 

"Yes," and I can't help it, it comes out as a moan. 

"Good. So suck it, Sandburg. Take my dick down your throat." 

He steps toward me and I open my mouth. At first I just suck on the head, using my lips and tongue on that spongy flesh. Just the crown of Jim's cock alone is a nice mouthful; I'm grateful he doesn't just ram it in and choke me. Then I start licking the length of it (a _lot_ of length), from the base to the tip underneath, and around the sides. I don't hear a sound from Jim, and I'm afraid to look up, but he's moving ever so slightly into what I'm doing, his cock flushing almost purple and leaking more and more. He likes it, I know he does. 

When I suck in the whole thing, my lips tight around him, those big hands make fists in my hair. I couldn't move except that he's letting me move, letting me go all the way down, letting me pull back to suck just the head again. His fingers clench and unclench in time with the little noises I'm making, hungry, helpless noises. He tastes so _good_ , god, salty, raw, I'm getting so worked up just working on him-- 

Suddenly he grabs my head and holds me still--no way can I move--and very deliberately fucks my face. Only two or three strokes, but I've never felt so helpless or so turned on. And then he pulls out, steps back. I notice his breathing has gotten heavier. 

"Not bad, Sandburg. But I don't want to come in your mouth--this time. I want to fuck that pretty ass of yours." 

Jim reaches out, takes my arm, and hauls me to my feet. He studies my face, his own still cold as a stone wall. I'm so ashamed of myself, so turned on by being coerced like this. Jim favors me with a very small, very tight smile. 

"Go into your bedroom and wait for me, face down on the bed." 

Of course I obey. I don't dare look up when I hear him come in, not even when I hear the rustling movements that mean he's finally stripping. As much as I want to see that gorgeous body in its entirety, he's in control of this situation, not me. I'm the one who's vulnerable, and I love it. 

He sits down beside me on my bed. "Ever been fucked, Sandburg?" 

"Y--Yeah." 

"Did you like it?" 

I swallow. "It was okay," I say truthfully. 

Jim's hand strokes my ass, kneading the muscles gently. "You want me to fuck you?" 

"Yes...." 

"I know you do. I can smell it on you." He leans close; his lips graze my shoulder. "I can smell when you're horny, Sandburg. I can hear the changes in your heartbeat and your breathing. I've known for months that you wanted me; I've just been waiting for the right moment. The right moment to take you." 

One finger slips between the cheeks of my ass just as his mouth works through my hair and fastens on the back of my neck. God! He knows exactly what to do to me. The man is _biting_ me and I'm pressing my neck up into his teeth. I am one sick puppy. 

Jim's mouth leaves my neck, his hand leaves my ass, and then his finger comes back cool and slick, pressing knowingly into my asshole. I'm trying to press onto that finger and not rub my cock on the bed and come all over the sheets. "That's it, beautiful boy, come up on your knees for me. That's good." I'm just panting with eagerness, feeling that finger slip deeper, stretch me open. All the way in, up to the knuckle, loosening me up with tiny circles, almost but not quite getting my prostate--it's blissful torture. 

Then the finger goes away. I whimper, hoping for more, but I don't expect what I get. From the long pause and the small sounds I hear, Jim must be putting on a condom, slicking himself up. There's no way I'm going to take that cock without being prepped more--but then Jim is kneeling behind me, spreading my knees with his, and taking hold of my hips. 

"Just hold still and let _me_ move, and I swear I won't hurt you." 

All I can do is whimper. And Jim starts to move, pressing forward with incredible patience, easing that thick shaft into my body. He is so _big_.... Sometimes he stops for a moment, letting my muscles stretch to accomodate him. Sometimes he backs out slightly, then pushes in a little deeper. He's not hurting me, but I feel so damned helpless--and _so_ aroused--knowing that he could, he could tear me apart, he could break me limb from limb-- 

Finally he's all the way in there. He's breathing pretty heavily, almost panting like me. "So tight," he growls. "So good--I knew it would be this good." 

He pulls all the way out, glides all the way in. Something like a howl comes out of my throat. I've been broken, pierced, penetrated, split, gutted, _used_ , and I love it. This is what I'm here for, to be used by this man. It's all I need, all I want. "Yes, you love it. You love having my dick up your ass." 

I don't have the words to agree. All I can do is make that godawful howl again as he pulls out and thrusts back in a little harder. And so it goes--Jim fucking me, with unbelievable control, each withdrawal smooth, each thrust a little harder, and my bones are dissolving, his hands are holding me together, and as he takes me harder his hands move, pulling me up against him, one arm across my chest, a bar of iron, one hand on my belly. My cock may explode at any moment, but I just want him to keep fucking me, give me more, maybe I say the words because he does, he's holding me up and pounding me like a smith pounds an anvil, and then that hand on my belly suddenly wraps around my cock and I scream like a banshee, coming all over myself and feeling him come inside me. 

That's where the fantasy ends, really. No cuddling afterward, no romance, I don't even care what happens next. Like I said, completely politically incorrect. I mean, it's not like I _really_ want Jim to dominate me. And no way do I think he would ever do that--coerce me or anybody to have sex with him. Of course, was he really coercing me if he knew all along that I wanted him? 

I _do_ want to have sex with him. Not like that--I mean, well, not all the time. To be perfectly truthful, I love the man, and if he had a similar fantasy he wanted to act out, I wouldn't say no. But I want us to be lovers, not just a quick fuck-slash-power trip. 

You know, it never occurred to me before, but he _is_ perfectly capable of noticing my arousal, just as I described in the fantasy. I wonder.... 

End 


End file.
